


An 'I Love You' Of A Different Kind

by LadyPoly



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Bottom Misha Collins, Castiel confesses his love, Cockles coda, Forward Jensen, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Non-Penetrative Sex, Top Jensen Ackles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-27
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2019-03-10 00:24:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13492947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyPoly/pseuds/LadyPoly
Summary: I love you, I love all of you.There, he said it.





	An 'I Love You' Of A Different Kind

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired because as I watched the scene, Misha's voice sounded more like him than it did Castiel and he was so beautifully emotional <3
> 
>  
> 
> Dearest Readers,
> 
> It would appear that not only were several of my works copied and posted as someone else’s and that a few people I trusted have also stolen ideas, images created and scenes.
> 
> Should you compare my stories to something I have not said was inspired by a prompt, or that someone has stolen, in the comments of the story please share it with the link, or the place it was and the writer's name or username. I will do what I can to contact them on my own if I need to. Please do not engage them yourselves. If I need help, I will sound the bat signal ;)
> 
> While I have dealt with the people involved the best I can, with the help of loyal reader’s and friends, I have to ask that you please keep this in mind. In the last several weeks it has become very clear to me that the majority of fanfic writers don't understand plagiarism. Stealing ideas without crediting, borrowing quotes, etc and claiming it as your own-- plagiarism. A form of fraud. You cannot take something blow for blow, change the setting and claim that either. An homage is also not done this way, and if you believe so-- it’s still a form of plagiarism.
> 
> When you cite the fandom, the characters etc, you show that you have given credit for the idea. What the writer does next if not stating a prompt and it’s source is their own. The canon ideas are given credit, the divergent is their own.
> 
> Now sometimes similarities inspired by scenes happen, but there is no reason why a comparison of the two should be clear. There is no reason for one writer’s voice to still be evident if you were inspired by their story while claiming your own idea.
> 
> I want to say this didn’t anger me, or hurt me but it did. It infuriated me and to be honest, I didn’t know if I should continue.
> 
> If I am slower to post things now, it is only due to feeling unsure. I am very sorry.
> 
> All my love,  
> LadyPoly

 

The worst part about special effects makeup is the removal. Misha hisses under his breath, his abdominal muscles contracting at the feeling the prosthetics give him when removed. They’re itchy. He really dislikes these bloody things, they don’t move the way he’d like them to.

 

He rolls his shoulders to keep from fidgeting, trying to alleviate the stiffness. They feel unnatural, always telling his brain they don’t belong there. He shivers when she rubs the remover along his skin, making sure to get any powders or things left behind. The smell is unpleasant and a little suffocating in the width of the trailer. He makes a face, and rubs at his nose with the back of his hand. Christ, he can’t wait to shower. 

 

Looking down, his skin is slightly red, having started sweating under all the props his Angelic persona had been in before the next take. He scratches at his sternum as she sets everything down.

 

“All done. You want me to take the gunk off your face?” 

 

He shakes his head, waving her off as he stands. He’s tired. He just wants  _ away _ from everyone, to wash this day away and move on.

 

“No, I'm all right. Thanks, though.” He slides Castiel’s clothing back over his shoulders, holding them closely together where they gape open in the front. 

 

She smiles softly, “‘Night, Misha.”

 

“Hmm, good night,” he murmurs, a small smirk upon his lips that doesn’t meet his eyes before the door hinge clicks shut behind him. 

 

_ Thank fuck. _

 

Outside, Misha breathes deeply to clear the smell of makeup and removers from his airways as he pinches the bridge of his nose. Some days he was grateful Vicki never really bothered with them. He isn't sure it's something he always wants to experience. Too many chemicals. 

 

Making sure he has his phone, he sighs and tries to shift away from what he left behind when the makeup was removed. Away from Castiel and far, far away from Dean.

 

Finally alone, he takes in the sky around him, a deep ebony scattered with stars. He’s hours past any sort of normal sleeping pattern he may have regained with his family and he could really use something for the ache in his neck and shoulders from lying awkwardly as fuck for what is probably sure to be one of Castiel's biggest moments. 

 

**_I love you. I love all of you._ **

 

He frowns as he recalls the line, stomach twisting again and for more than just that awful black gunk that nearly sent him vomiting as he recalled the Leviathans. Agitated, Misha pushes the bottom of his hand inwards where his fist of clothing is, trying to make it stop. 

 

He wants to clear it from his mind, to forget the look on Jensen’s face, the sound of his voice when he said it.

 

Moving briskly, Misha can hear the echo of his footsteps along the pavement as he makes a direct line for his trailer. The air is chilled, but it isn’t as cold as he would have expected for being nearly shirtless and exposed. 

 

Opening the door, he gives a moan when he sinks back against it. The trailer is silent. Dark.

Closing his eyes, trying to breathe through the uncomfortable feeling in his chest and stomach, Misha bangs his head backwards into the door a few times in mild annoyance at himself. Sometimes he hated that the lines between himself and Castiel blurred, over lapped.

 

Misha sheds his clothing hurriedly to seek out comfort in the water. Tries to push Castiel and the day as far away as possible from where he is now.

 

Showering in the trailer is never ideal, but he wants to be clean before he finds his bed, before he brings work home with him. He’s scrubbing over his face, removing the emotions Castiel brought up inside of him, the emotions Jensen and Dean once again stirred when he hears the trailer door.

 

Hurrying to finish, as it’s probably someone for Cas’ things, Misha emerges in a blue robe, toweling his hair. “Sorry--was desperate to get this gunk off...” When he looks up with wild locks of deep brown hair, his whole face falls. He swallows, none of his things are laying on the floor.

 

“She came in when I did,” is all Jensen says and Misha sighs heavily, trying to tame some manageability back into his hair with his hand. The man eyes his co-worker, his frame dressed in faded jeans and a blue t-shirt with some logo Misha doesn’t understand, “I just came to see if you were all right…” 

 

Misha meets his shamrock eyes in the low light of the trailer stove Jensen must have turned on.  Leaning himself on the arm of his small couch, perching there with the towel in his lap, Misha clenches his jaw. He fiddles with the worn fibres of the towel momentarily. “I’m just tired, Jen. It’s been a long day...” 

 

Jensen seems to look everywhere but at Misha, a hand through his hair with a shrug, “Yeah-yeah, I guess it has been.”  He clears his throat as he trails off and Misha doesn’t know what to say.

 

After a while the silence between them is louder than both of them have ever known in all their years together. It’s uncomfortable, awkward and it physically hurts if Misha is being honest with himself. It’s not supposed to be like this. 

 

Not with Jensen.

 

Neither one wants to spit out whatever isn’t being said, and this is all because of him. 

 

Misha can feel his throat tighten slightly. He stares at his feet, one of them hovering above the ground as the meaty part of his thigh and buttocks dig into the arm rest below him. 

 

On the wall, the ticking of the clock is deafening. 

 

“You didn’t --” Jensen swallows, fingers picking a fuzz from his jeans where his eyes are downcast and turned where Misha can’t see them when he looks up, “You didn’t--say it like…” The man’s jaw clenches, and Misha can see the flesh go taut and move as his teeth grind. Misha twists his hands in the towel, “You didn’t say it like Castiel…”  

 

The air in the trailer suddenly seems thin, and Misha wonders if maybe he can still smell the makeup removers. At least that’s what he’s telling himself--anything to avoid the slip up he made, to avoid this. 

 

So far they’ve managed to dance around this confrontation with Misha having just enough of Jensen’s affections that it didn’t always hurt to be pining for the man he can’t seem to have as either himself, or as Castiel. He stares at a worn spot on the trailer floor. 

 

“I didn’t say a lot of things today that sounded like Castiel...” 

 

It’s true, Jensen can’t deny that, but the way Misha says it, it’s not like himself either. It’s low and quiet, void of the warmth in his tone that Jensen is accustomed to. 

 

From the corner of his eye, Jensen watches Misha shift uncomfortably as his own insides feel caught in a storm at sea, churning ever since they locked eyes and the weight of the words crushed the air from his lungs.

 

“Why?” he rasps, voice cracking, almost a whisper despite it seeming like it echoes. When he looks up he can see a thousand thoughts reflected in his best friend’s cerulean eyes and suddenly he wishes he saw something other than fear.

 

Misha stands, walking back towards the bathroom, trying to put space between them. His heart is so loud now, like thunder in his ears.  

 

Jensen straightens, and within no more than a few long bow legged strides, Misha finds himself pinned against the door frame, their chests a few inches apart. Jensen’s hands rest on his biceps. Holding him there. Pleading for his attention. 

 

“Misha?” 

 

Lowering his head, swimming in the scent of everything he knows is Jensen, it’s even harder now not to feel something again, as they touch. Trembling despite trying not to, Misha chokes on his admission, “Because I do. I thought you would have guessed that by now...” 

 

“I...” Jensen stares at him, mouth agape as if Misha's slapped him. Perhaps maybe he should have, as the words processing though his brain, suddenly flashing a lifetime of moments he treasures between them.

 

Misha squeezes his eyes shut, shapes and yellow like movements behind them as they throb.

 

“I didn’t want to tell you, to ruin what we had…you...” Misha whispers, his body going limp in defeat against the door frame and under Jensen’s hands. Misha swallows as a hand settles on his stomach. 

 

He needs air. 

 

Jensen watches the tears glaze Misha’s eyes and all of a sudden he’s right back in that room, in every moment Misha breathed life into Castiel and showed him he had the potential to feel things he never had before. 

 

Jensen can’t breathe, suffocated again by the admission in his eyes, and the real tears he can see staining the bronzed skin. He thumbs them away, eyes roaming to his lips like he’s done a hundred times before.

 

Misha drops his head, closing his eyes with a shaky inhale. He’s cracking under Jensen’s affections, shattering in his embrace. His face burns a soft rose color, embarrassed by his emotions, his vulnerability. 

 

Jensen feels something snap at the sight, unhinge and overtake him. Misha never sees it coming. 

 

It feels like Dean but at the same time it’s new, like some part of him woke up with the feeling of those lips, soft and lush against his own and quivering in shock. 

 

Jensen moans, their chests flush where he’s crushed them together, and Misha fists the fabric of Jensen’s shirt like it’s the only thing keeping him together.

 

They break apart in a harsh gasp and Misha’s eyes have never been so wide. They’re endless pools of summer sky as Jensen is studied by him, his friend searching his face like it’s supposed to be some life changing moment.

 

Then again, for them--maybe it is.  

 

“Mish…” 

 

Misha licks his lips, Jensen feeling their hearts hammering against their chests through the cotton of their clothing. He snakes a hand up to the back of his co-worker’s hair, fingers threading through before he leans in again, breath hot and wet against Misha’s lips. Breathing the same air. Jensen closes his eyes.

 

It’s like being dragged by an unexplainable force, the same way they always end up too close together, despite never thinking of it. Now, though, it’s inescapable when Misha’s arms encircle Jensen’s neck lovingly.  “Jen…”  

 

It’s nearly breathless and before Jensen can process it, they’re entangled again--tasting every inch of their mouths in raw passion and Jensen needs more, needs all of it. Misha gasps, thrown against the wall as Jensen’s hands roam, his torso exposed where his garment lay open and somehow despite the times he knows he’s seen it all before, Misha is the most beautiful now, flushed and soul bared for only him to see. 

 

“Jensen…” It’s a low sound, vibrating the space between them as he finds his neck and shoulder, the older man bucking against as his whole being sparks alive. Misha gasps, Jensen’s teeth scraping the shape of his collarbone and his thumbs pressing into dip on his hipbones. 

 

“I had to see you, Mish,” Jensen whispers, breath like embers into his skin, driving him into something Misha had never experienced before. Jensen roams over his shape, his curves. He feels Misha move, muscles rippling, the way his limbs shudder at his touch in a needy way and back up to his ribs. His fingers are spread wide, cradling his ribs as he feels each breath, each beat of the man’s strong steady unwavering heart beating against his breast. 

 

Jensen drops to his knees, it’s desperate and for a single moment he imagines the Angel, the mercy that is Castiel. His voice catches, eyes burning with tears he choked back earlier and swallowed till they felt like they were burning a hole in the pit of his core, “I had to know there was life within you…” Misha arches into him, Jensen’s lips leaving feather like kisses against Misha’s skin, close to his heart, trailing down where the pads of his fingers left the map ahead of them. “I had to know there was no wound here, had to see that you were whole…” 

 

Misha whines and Jensen trembles. The sound hits him like lightning, as he rubs his face into him at the smell of watermelon and lemongrass soap, a smell that is so genuinely  _ Misha _ and it intoxicates him.

 

Jensen sucks a hickey, deep and bruising where the bloody prop had covered him, where the spear had connected with Castiel’s grace. Jensen feels it flex and release, reminding him it’s there, solid and okay. The man above him claws at his hair with a tug that shoots straight to his groin. Misha moans, and this time rather than the ones he heard before, the ones of pain--this one is something new, beautiful and all  _ his. _

 

Misha gasps, feeling too many things at once, like maybe his heart’s about to explode and the world might end just from this alone. 

 

Jensen's hands meet the swell of Misha’s ass, pinning them together. Misha can’t escape the look in Jensen’s eyes, both of them bright like emeralds as they admire the freckles the older man has delicately across his skin, breath hovering in soft gentle rhythm against his lower abdomen. With a shaky hand, Misha reaches down to cup the side of his temple and cheekbone. Jensen nuzzles into it lovingly, a warmth spreading through his hand that sends shocks up and down his arm. 

 

They catch one another’s eyes, studying the reflection of themselves and hold with words unspoken. Jensen’s fingers come up to cover Misha’s. 

 

“I love you, too.”

 

He’s nearly crying when Jensen moves to kiss him, his body shadowing his when they land against the small couch. It isn’t ideal, but they manage as Misha slips his jeans from his waist, impressed at the hardened length commando beneath the denim. Jensen strokes himself, hovering above the bronzed skin man as he shuffles out of his sleeves. 

 

The robe pools around him when Misha’s shoulder blades press into the cushions below them. Jensen tosses his shirt away, its whereabouts unknown and Misha pulls him down in a frenzy of furious kisses, tasting the soap from his own shower and licking the salt of his worried nerves like the purest water off his skin.

 

It quenches him, both of them desperate to feel, to taste and be together. 

 

There are no barriers here, no identities that stop them or wondering if one wrong moves sends their work, their fans into a tizzy. It’s just them, really them and Misha throws his head back when their cocks brush together, lighting him on fire. 

 

They’re touching in a way neither ever thought they would, the pads of their hands and fingers desperate to memorize one another like this, feel one another. 

 

He hasn’t felt this sort of burn since his teens, since he laid against the mattress of the bed he finally completed and took Vicki for every day he respected her vow, her ring and her values despite his want and teenage hormones.

 

This, though, ignites something more than himself, It ignites a part of him Vicki never has, a part of him that is only made for a part of Jensen. 

 

This is about Castiel and Dean as well.

 

“I love you,” Misha gasps. His voice cracks, horribly in fact, as their arms encircle one another like vines, bodies pressed together and rutting every inch of themselves that they can. 

 

It’s warm, intoxicating and Misha wonders if maybe he's too old for this, but the spark inside his soul is brighter than it has been in years and nothing, not even getting older or the ache in his back from before is going to stop him.

 

The trailer could go up in flames and he’d ride this out just to feel the end.

 

“I love you, too,” Jensen grunts, face buried in Misha’s neck, eyes screwed shut as they nuzzle together. Jensen groans, loud and deep, nerves building as his spine dances in electrical shocks over how much of him is against the man beneath him, “We both do, I’m--” The air rushes from his lungs when Misha manages to move, somehow twist to kiss at his ear and space behind it, “I’m sorry I waited...” It’s lost, though, both of them reaching a groan that if anyone outside was close would definitely not need their imaginations to guess what it was for.

 

Misha has to try to remember to breathe, his brain shorting out coherent thought. There is so much of Jensen as he traces his body under his fingers, commits it to memory. It’s not that he didn’t already know how large his soul, his spark and inner beauty was--but like this he is endless, muscular hard curves, and soft rounded edges but solid in his core despite it.

 

He’s heavy, and warm and if he crushed the life out of him right now, buried him beneath the curve of his throbbing cock, the feel of the strength he can only imagine would black him out wrapped around his head if he squeezed, hell Misha wouldn’t even be mad. He’d take it as a blessing.

 

“Ahh...” he whines desperately as Jensen pushes, rocks everything as hard as he can as his vision starts to white out, buried in one another’s necks, Misha’s nails leaving marks he’ll feel for days at least and smile over. He crushes Misha to his chest, holds him so tightly. 

 

Misha’s orgasm, he’s positive, stops his heart. The world fades, the sounds of Jensen above him mute. He’s positive whatever tears from the back of his throat isn’t totally himself, almost like it vibrates the windows and it leaves Jensen seconds from his own undoing when his nails dig painfully into Misha’s wonderful broad shoulders.

 

“Ah-fuck, yes!” and Misha groans, quaked when Jensen stiffens and nearly collapses his rib cage against his own. 

 

It’s absolutely the highlight of Misha’s entire career. 

 

Silence once again passes between them, Jensen collapsed against him, Misha holding the Texan possessively in his arms, sweat goosebumping their skin as they lay exposed to the walls protecting them from the world outside. 

 

The world that would never, even if they tried their damndest, understand what just happened. 

 

With no idea of the passing time, their breathing relaxes, both of them feeling better than a run or any adrenaline rush could have given them.

 

The clock is still ticking.

 

The world didn’t end...Dean didn’t freak. Cas didn’t die. 

 

Misha confessed and Jensen spilled the beans. 

 

Nothing fell apart. 

 

And Misha doesn’t even care that it’s 3 am. 

 

They shift, Jensen spooning Misha against him, his thumb stroking Misha’s knuckles as they lay intertwined. Misha’s bathrobe makes a decent blanket. Neither one of them wants to move, lose what this just gave them, this moment.

 

“Danneel...knew, right?” 

 

Jensen hums, kissing the exposed part of Misha’s shoulder dips and nuzzles into the smell of something like coconut in his hair. 

 

“Yes, she has for a long time, but when I would just deny it, she’d remind me you were my freebie. She’s going to laugh so hard when I tell her.” 

 

Misha licks his lips. Vicki already knew, of course, this one always on the table--no questions asked or arrangements needed. Some things she said were better left to nature, the moment and the timing. No sense ruining it to stop to ask for a fuck. 

 

Jensen pulls him closer, “I was thinking…we’re not due until late tomorrow. Could always claim some drinks did us in...your place is closer and the trailer doesn’t exactly have a bed. We’ll blame it on my shipper heart,” Misha says softly, lips huffing breath against Jensen's skin. 

 

Jensen chuckles, “And just which couple are we celebrating?” 

 

Misha snickers, Jensen tickling him under the robe where his hips are as his cock grinds into the crack of his ass. Misha closes his eyes and thanks for the first time in his life, an Angel, because real or not--he’s real enough to Misha now. 

 

He wouldn’t be here without Castiel.

 

“Depends. How many versions of Dean can you play before your dick gives out?”

 

Jensen hits him with a throw cushion, but Misha laughs till hurts.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you are thinking, if you liked it, your favorite part, etc. Always nice too hear from people <3


End file.
